The Roaming (Book 3): Haven's Promise

by Hegarty, W. J.

  “What made you go along with it?”

  “The families. We had hundreds of refugees living in tent cities on the hospital grounds and spread two blocks in all directions. They had nowhere to go.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “Maybe some other time.”

  “I hear you. We realized after our first excursions that hospitals were considered suicide. Only to be entered under the most vital lifesaving missions or as a last resort.” Cortez scanned the building, and sure enough, the doors were chained. “The first hospital we came across, we thought we hit the jackpot. I ordered Ulrich to cut the chains, and out pours hundreds of those things. Thousands. We were lucky to make it back to the boat intact. It was a learning experience, but things changed after that. What anyone unlucky enough to even try doesn’t realize is that hospitals were out of supplies before the crisis even got out of control. There’s likely nothing of any real use to be found, anyway.”

  ~~~

  The excursion to Shipwreck Cove was a wash. This town had been well and thoroughly picked over multiple times. Even the wild animals fought over scraps, but at least their constant yapping and growling in the background acted as a cover to mask the team’s presence from the undead. Ahole ate a candy bar as he walked ahead of Miller. He casually tossed the used wrapper to the ground, where it blew in the warm ocean breeze and mingled with other trash whipping around their feet. There was a time when Miller would have scolded a teammate for littering. On mission or not, litter was always a sore spot, though what was the point anymore?

  It was the little things that kept Miller sane in a crazy world. Kindness cost nothing, and so far, what he saw from the people of Haven was mostly positive. Of course, get any large enough group together and you’re bound to run into problems eventually; it was human nature. Miller wasn’t naïve enough to believe otherwise. He tapped Ahole on the shoulder and pointed forward. “I got it,” he said as he jogged ahead of the group.

  Two carriers were shambling a block away. They hadn’t even noticed the team yet, but Miller thought it prudent to put them down before their moans alerted any others in the direct vicinity to the team’s location. He dispatched them with ease with a knife in the first carrier’s eye and the same blade in one swift movement up and under the other’s chin. Miller cleaned his weapon off on the downed carrier’s clothes before rejoining the team.

  Though scavenge was light on this trip, they did manage to leave stashes along their route back to Haven. Tomorrow—on their way out of town—they would gather each stash and pile up the spoils at the extraction point. Miller didn’t so much mind the lack of found resources; he honestly just liked getting off the ship. He feared Haven’s easy living would breed complacency. He himself was going stir crazy just trying to keep busy.

  Miller did have an agenda of his own this trip, and he kept it to himself. He was looking for a map that he could study in the privacy of his own quarters. He wanted to study regional maps outside of the scrutiny of the wheelhouse. It was no secret that Miller considered jumping ship to begin a solo trek back to Poseidon’s Rest in search of Soraya. He had discussed the notion with Jeremiah and Cortez. Both men told him in no uncertain terms that that was a foolish endeavor that would likely lead to his demise. Their lack of faith in his solo survival skills notwithstanding, he begrudgingly agreed.

  Nonetheless, his desire for a return to Poseidon’s Rest was something he didn’t let anyone forget, especially the captain. Kayembe knew that he couldn’t deny Miller at least the chance to search for Soraya, but it wasn’t like Miller could just hop on a transport and be on his way. A return to Poseidon’s Rest required logistics and time—but more importantly patience, a quality Miller was fast running out of. He would toe the line. For now.

  The team scavenged past midday until finally the skies opened up. The rains could be over in minutes or last for hours; they had no way to be sure. They took refuge in a rundown two-story motel, the kind of place you would find just off an interstate: there was a pool beside a parking lot that was framed by rows of motel rooms. They patrolled the second floor; its long, shared balcony doubled as a walkway for guests to get to their lodging. Most of the group settled on a pair of connecting rooms near the middle, just above the center of the pool. At the back of the rooms, a tiny bedroom window overlooked a Little League field that was framed with modest bleachers. A concession stand—still in moderately good shape—stood a few meters farther down a dirt path.

  “We’ll have to check that out when this lets up,” Genevieve suggested.

  “Right.” Ahole squeezed past on his way toward the window. “Year-old hot dogs sound delicious.”

  “Or a case of ketchup packets is waiting for us.” Simon’s eyes lit up.

  “I could go for some mustard.” Genevieve shrugged.

  Bull licked his lips. “Relish could be nice.”

  Ahole struggled to get a better view through the dirty, fogged window. “Hold up. What do we have here? Hey, Bull, have a gander at this.”

  At the center of the Little League field, right atop the pitcher’s mound, a young woman showered in the driving rain. Just off the mound rested a black trash bag, and in it was a wrapped long gun of indiscernible make. She moved with purpose, starting with her ear-length brown hair, then making her way down to her feet. The efficient cleansing lasted five minutes tops. When she finished, she wrapped her bar of soap in her washcloth, snatched up her black garbage bag, and made a beeline for the concession stand.

  Genevieve snuck a peek, then nodded in quiet approval. “A downpour like this rivals Haven’s water pressure on its best day.”

  “Not bad. A little scrawny for my tastes, but not bad.” Bull shrugged and moved on back to surveying the parking lot.

  “If you boys are finished, let the lady shower in peace.”

  “Aw, you’re no fun,” Ahole commented on his way out of the room.

  “I’ll remember you said that tonight.”

  “Ah, fuck!” exclaimed Ahole as he was squeezing past Miller and Cortez, who were entering the small bedroom.

  Genevieve grinned as she returned to the window. “Smart girl.” She pointed out the area surrounding the strange woman’s choice for a shower. “It’s a Little League field. The whole thing is surrounded by fencing. The only way in or out is through one of two dugouts—both of which are double fenced and gated. She has a 360-degree view of her surroundings, and the rain covers up any noise she makes. She could have easily used the water pouring out of that gutter on the side of the concession stand over there for a touch of privacy, but that leaves blind spots. She’s done this before. She could be an asset, Cortez. I say we make contact.”

  “I agree with Genevieve,” said Miller. “We shouldn’t leave this woman out here alone, not unless she wants to stay.”

  Cortez agreed. “When this rain lets up, we’ll follow her for a bit. If she really is alone, we’ll approach.”

  “You think it’s a trap?” Miller asked.

  “Could be. Let’s keep our guard up just to be on the safe side.” Cortez sat his rifle on top of the nearest dresser, next to a dust ring left over from where a TV used to sit. They weren’t the motel’s first visitors. “It’ll be dark soon and this storm doesn’t look like it’s going to let up anyway. We’ll stay here for the night. If we can track her down in the morning, fine. Otherwise, we keep going. In the meantime, everyone pair up and pick out your rooms. Try to get some rest.”

  ~~~

  Before the team settled in for the night, they hit a jackpot of sorts, a small win in the form of a still-covered pool. The water it contained would be relatively clean and free of debris. Trashcans full of pool water were used to fill the bathtubs, and they used chlorine found in a maintenance closet to sterilize it. The team didn’t regularly wash with chlorinated water. Too much of the chemical was hazardous; the occasional bath was harmless. The positive psychological effects of staying clean, even out on the road, were a boon to the mission.
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br />   As the night wore on, the storm refused to let up, but it gave the excursion team time to go their own separate ways and unwind. Miller and Cortez bunked up in a central room with a full view of the parking lot below and a substantial view of the city’s main street just beyond. As long as one of them kept watch, no one or no thing could sneak past or surprise the resting team.

  Miller paced the room while Cortez relaxed in a recliner with one eye open. Miller’s apprehension had nothing to do with not trusting Cortez and his team; they saved his life, after all, and the lives of those in Miller’s charge. It was the road. Being on the road again brought back a flood of memories of just how fast a seemingly peaceful night’s rest could turn to tragedy in the blink of an eye.

  Cortez rose and took a spot closer to the curtains. Maybe if Miller saw that he was physically keeping watch, the newest member of his team would let himself get some sleep. “If you keep checking those curtains every five minutes, you’ll never get any rest. Why don’t you take a load off?”

  “You’re probably right.” Miller reluctantly lay down on the sofa; the bed was too soft. He didn’t want to sleep; he needed to keep his guard up.

  “So tell me about her, hombre. This Soraya must be something special to keep you focused for so long. Did you know her before?”

  “No, not really. We met at the FOB before the collapse of Philadelphia back before those of us on the ground even knew what the hell was going on.”

  “Mm, those were some confusing days, huh?”

  “To say the least. She was a green recruit on a troop exchange from Israel with another guy named Lev. At the time, all I could think about was why the brass dumped these two on us. But right off the bat, something about her just drew her to me, you know?”

  “I do.”

  “We became close over those few short weeks in Philly, just trying to hold our small chunk of the city together. But somehow we made it through. Most of the others weren’t so lucky. And then Pepperbush happened and then the island and later I watched my best friend get torn to pieces on that dock and there wasn’t a goddamn thing I could do about it. Now, every night, I’m left wondering if I left Soraya to the same fate.”

  “You didn’t leave her. She made a call. The right call. If she didn’t do what she did, there’s a chance none of us would be alive to talk about it.”

  Miller nodded and set his focus out to the raging storm.

  Cortez joined him by the window. “I’m sorry for your loss. Everything happens for a reason. You guys survived that hellhole in Philadelphia, then all the way to Poseidon’s Rest. She can survive this. Just keep the faith, amigo. I hope to properly meet her someday.”

  Miller was ready for a change of subject. “Well, as long as we’re sharing,” he said, “how did a captain in the Mexican Army come to meet a bartender from Miami?”

  “Trix, man. She’s the best thing to ever happen to me. You know Haven almost didn’t even stop that day? The town we wanted to scavenge was deemed too close to Miami. I tried to veto it. I told the captain that if we were overrun with carriers, that was one thing. We could just run back to the ship. But being so close to the outskirts of a major city significantly increased our chances of stumbling across a large group of people with ill-intent. If that happened, well, then, we’d be fucked. They could have their way with us and then Haven would have been out of another excursion team. Anyway, that didn’t happen. The excursion continued as planned, and on our last day there, we ran into Trix. She was with a pretty large group. Bigger than yours. If I had to guess, I’d say there was upward of thirty of them. But you see, those numbers gave them a false sense of security. Luckily for us, they were cool, but they decided they didn’t need us and were adamant they would be fine, so we left. Trix was the only one to take us up on the offer.”

  “Everything happens for a reason. What about you, though? How did you wind up on Haven in the first place?”

  “Nothing glamorous about it. Like most everyone else on the ship, I was on vacation. I had some leave time coming up, and I always wanted to go on a cruise. I couldn’t get anyone to come with me and I wasn’t about to spend my time off at home in front of the TV, so I said screw it. I booked a trip for myself. We were somewhere in the Caribbean when the news broke. After that mess at St. Lucia, the captain gave every other port a wide berth. That single decision probably saved all our lives. Now here we are. Alive and living life one day at a time.”

  In the next room over, Ahole’s and Genevieve’s uniforms were draped over chairs, their boots and gear strewn about the room. Ahole stood in front of the window, peering out into the rainy night while Genevieve took the time to bathe. Water droplets beaded around and fell from her silver necklace; she was never without it. There was no hot water, and she sat and soaked by candlelight, but at least she would be clean. The first thing she did was give her and Ahole’s socks and underwear a good scrubbing and hung them to dry on a nearby towel rack. Right outside of the bathtub, she left her naginata propped up against the wall, just within arm’s reach, should the need arise.

  “You know it’s insulting to take a bath right after sex?” Ahole wiped condensation from the glass to better see outside; it didn’t really help.

  Genevieve had to raise her voice so he could hear her from across the room and over the storm. “Oh, stop it. Since when are you so sensitive?”

  “I’m not, babe. Just bored, fucking around. How’s your soak, got room for one more? I might as well scrub up while we’re here. This time tomorrow, we’ll be in goddamn de-cons.”

  “Get in here. You never have to ask. No matter where we find ourselves, I will always make room for you at my side.” Genevieve sat up straight at the far end of the bathtub. On reflex, she made room for him, but she still gave him the end of the tub with the faucet. “When we get home, someone’s going to have to rethink this de-cons situation. It’s getting ridiculous. I don’t mind coming out on the road. In fact, I really don’t want to do anything else, but I am so over having to spend three days after in that fucking cell. I’m telling you, if something doesn’t change…” She trailed off before continuing. “I don’t know how much longer I can put up with this.”

  “I hear you. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me, too, but we did agree to these conditions.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve changed my mind. A person is entitled to that much, at least. I’m tired of coming home only to be treated like a prisoner. I’ve only been keeping up appearances for the sake of the people we bring home with us.” Genevieve sighed, and it was clearly audible from across the room. “I think we should get the others and even Lance and his crew to come together and talk with Kayembe about setting up some sort of temporary housing for returning teams. If we show a unified front, he’ll have to at least consider adjusting protocol.”

  “Not a bad idea. Everything except having to deal with Lance, that is. I fucking hate that guy.”

  “I think everybody does. I feel so bad for his team.”

  “Likewise.” Ahole put out his cigarette before joining Genevieve in the bath.

  “Was that the last one?” she asked.

  “Nah, I saved the last one for you. We’re going to need to keep an eye out tomorrow for smokes. I should have brought more with us.”

  “We should probably cut back anyway. Better to get ahead of it now as opposed to waiting until there’s none left and we’re forced to quit. At least that way it’ll feel like we have a choice.”

  “That might not even matter if the farmers’ crops make it.”

  “Now that would be nice. I just don’t like the idea of having to rely on someone else to supply me. If the crops fail, that’s it.”

  “I’ve got faith he can pull it off. His weed is growing strong, and he’s been tinkering with a brewery on the side. The guy knows his shit.”

  “That he does.” Genevieve held her hair out of the water and turned around. “Get my back, would you?”

  Genevieve and Ahole weren’t
the only ones to take advantage of the pool water. Ulrich cleaned himself while Bull sat with his back against the wall just outside of the bathroom. He would stand watch for anyone foolish enough to barge into the wrong room. If the two giants inside didn’t deter a would-be robber, then one look at their medieval weapons surely would.

  Roadside motels and their amenities weren’t constructed with a one-size-fits-all model. Ulrich had to keep his knees bent uncomfortably close to his chest to sit in the bathtub as he washed two days’ worth of road grime from his body. Bull warned him after his own bath that it was a tight fit and that it might be better to just wash up in the sink. Ulrich wouldn’t have it. In the darkness, he often hit his head on the low handicap rail. More than once Bull heard an angry yell followed by a heavy elbow smashing against the wall in frustration. He smiled at the thought of his friend struggling in the tight, darkened confines.

  Bull loved nothing more than to be out on the road and lucking into chance surprises like an abandoned roadside motel with a full swimming pool—frustratingly small rooms and all. A soft bed and a pillow were all he needed. He still cursed himself for being away from home during his family’s greatest need. Port-au-Prince was leveled, but each day was getting just slightly better than the last. In time, he would be able to let his family rest. Surely, they wouldn’t want him to suffer so.

  Being partnered up with Ulrich was a lesson in coming to terms with living in your own head. It wasn’t unheard of for Ulrich to go an entire day without speaking to a soul. Ahole tried to spend the night with Ulrich on an excursion during the early days—the silence nearly drove him mad. Bull was a quiet man himself, though for no real reason other than he never saw the point in idle chatter. In that respect, he and Ulrich were perfect traveling companions.

  Petrova stood vigil just off to the side of a drawn curtain in the room chosen by her and Simon. The lot below and the streets beyond were dark. Nothing moved in her line of sight except for the occasional carrier wandering by. Stray dogs in small groups would pass on occasion, sniffing out tipped-over garbage cans or vehicles with their doors left ajar, then just as quickly disappear back into the night.